The Curse of a Genius
by Our Favourite Sociopath
Summary: TBD


School. It had just taken up all of my time back then. I knew it had been unnecessary. I didn't need anymore crap to worry about, let alone all those assignments. Eleventh grade back in my London school wasn't as amazing as all my friends would say, but who am I kidding, I didn't have any friends, it was my brother who'd said that. I got up and out of bed, my feet dragging across my dirty carpet, as always. I pulled out the drawer, filled with my old and musty t-shirts with a huff of annoyance. My eyes flickered around my dimly lit room heavily. Nothing had changed. I pulled on my favourite purple shirt, buttoning it up and straightening the collar. I noticed the same small, dark ink stain in the corner, as I always did. For some reason the stain made me fill with emotion. Probably from the memory behind it.

Back in eleventh grade, the day after I had bought the once vivid purple thing, I was sitting alone in the cafeteria, as per usual. I stared sadly at the tables of happy faces, and then imagined my own, frowning and lonely. Their happiness bothered me. I couldn't bear it. I sat and stared at my food, I didn't feel like eating. I never did. Just as I was going to go throw out the unopened bag of crisps and the nibbled on plate of spaghetti, I saw someone, someone new. They stood there, looking lost and out of place. I felt their eyes meet mine, only for a slight moment. They walked over to me, putting on a nervously fake smile and asked,

"Umm... Do you mind if I sit here with you?" She was visibly shaking and obviously scared. I put on a smile and said,

"Knock yourself out."

"Thank you." She said, trying not to make eye contact with me. It didn't bother me though. That's how everyone treated me.

"Are you new?" I asked, drably.

"Yes." She answered timidly.

"Name?" I questioned, in an unknowingly rude way.

"Oh, uh, I'm- I'm, Abigail Louise, but I prefer-"

"Abby?" I interrupted.

"Yes. How did you know?" She puzzled.

"It's obvious. Your name is Abigail Louise. There aren't many modern and shortened names for Louise, and Abigail can easily be shortened to Abby. Plus, one of your parents were American and the other was British, telling why half your name is of British origin, and the other half, American. Your parents probably had no idea your name was half-half, it was just their preferred name for a female child." I explained with ease.

"Wow." Was all she could manage to mutter out. I sat there, embarrassed.

"Sorry..." I blurted out. Whenever I did that, people thought I was a freak, staling them or something. They just didn't know it was all to obvious to me. They were all just oblivious to the fine details. Observe. That's all I had to do. Just a little hint could tell me their life story. Their shoes could tell me their favourite restaurant. They could never figure that out. I WAS a freak. I had always been and knew I always would be.

"No, no. Don't apologize. That's amazing!" She beamed.

"What?"

"You're amazing!" She said with a huge, unexplainable grin. "You look like no ones ever said that to you!"

"You're right."

"Right about what?"

"No one's ever said that to me. Not even my brother. All my life, never once. They all call me a freak or look at me funny. They're right, though." I snapped back. Worry and sadness flooded into her eyes. I hated that. When people WORRIED. When people felt SORRY for me. All of it. I just wish no one cared. Well, they don't, but when they do, I wish they didn't.

"You aren't a freak. They don't know what they're saying." She said, trying to unsuccessfully comfort me.

"Yes they do." I said, standing up with my still barely eaten-from tray. I regretted ever letting that Abigail girl ever sit with me.

The next class I had that day was History. I did all I could not to skip that class. It was useless to even go. The only thing that ever mattered to me was the present and the future. I had only sat there for fifteen minutes, but I couldn't bear it any longer. I shot my hand up in the middle of Professor Simmons' lecture.

"What is it?" He asked, intentionally trying to look annoyed. Annoyed. Annoyance and rage. My only two emotions that prominently showed throughout my life. Annoyance towards my family. My insufferable brother, my absent minded mother, the father who was never there. All of them. Now was not the time for that.

"May I use the restroom, Sir" I inquired with a fake tone of respect.

"In the middle of my lecture?"

"Yes," I spat, "It's useless material anyways."

"If that is how you choose to view my class, please. And don't come back." He calmly expressed, returning to the textbook he was reading from. I gathered my textbooks, my papers and my pens. I strutted out of the classroom, ignoring the eyes of the entire class trained on me. I leaned on the door and pushed it open.

I walked into the restroom and stared into the mirror. I focused on every detail of my face, wondering what could be deduced about myself. My dark, black curls hung lifelessly around my head, as they always did. My Blue eyes with those golden imperfections flitted around in the mirror. My prominent cheekbones told me nothing. I was staring into the face of someone I barely knew. A freak. _Myself._

"Why couldn't you just be normal?" Mycroft would ask. I wouldn't reply to him. He didn't know. Having these... _Curses_ wasn't my fault. Knowing of a person's entire life, as if you've had years to get to figure them out, as they walked up to you for the first time was excruciating. I could never make friends. Not one. Not ever.

I gathered my supplies and stormed out of the bathroom. I hated this place. I hated my _curse_. I hated Mycroft. I hated- no. She hadn't done anything. She'd only felt sorry. But why for me? Why not someone else? Someone in the hospital, or something. She shouldn't have wasted her time with me. I wasn't allowed back in that drab classroom, so I didn't know what to do. For one of the first time, I was lost. Not my location, my head. My heart. They were lost. Lost within my ego and my constant annoyance with this place and everyone around me. I needed to clear my mind. Rid it of all these problems. I knew that task was going to prove unsuccessful. I needed to figure something out. Then I remembered the police station, filled with unsolved cases.

I left the school. I wasn't familiar with the city at this time of day. Underpopulated streets and less-than-normal amounts of cars and lorries filling up the paved streets. The police station was the absolute worst place for a class-ditching student to be headed, but what did I care? So what if they called mother? Or Mycroft at his fancy new government job? Mother wouldn't care. Mycroft would be fuming, but what did that matter to me? It wouldn't teach me anything, his rantings, like he hoped they would. He'd threatened having mother send me off to military school, but he and I both knew neither of them would have he heart to do that. I hurried along the streets. The police station soon stood looming above me. I pushed open the door and stepped into a chilly, modern lobby. A younger looking police officer, in his early thirties, sat going over papers.

"Shouldn't you be in school?" He inquired.

"Yes." I replied sharply.

"Than why aren't you?" He questioned.

"It's useless. I need something I can actually use. I need to solve something." I explained.

"Like a case?"

"Yes. Exactly."

"And you expect me to let you just waltz in here and let you go through unsolved files?" He asked.

"Yes, actually."

"Who are you, anyways?" The officer puzzled.

"Sherlock Holmes." I replied with a small, two-fingered solute.

"Sherlock Holmes? Brother of Mycroft Holmes?"

"Yes."

"I've heard about you. I hear some of the older officers talk about you quite often." He stated.

"May I ask your name?"

"Lestrade. Uh, Greg Lestrade." He told with a slight tip of his hat.


End file.
